that’d be as good. Better get rid of it as soon as possible. Easier to travel about in a hansom when they’re all over the streets,” he said reasonably. “Who’d notice one in the many? Notice one at one o’clock in the morning. Too late for theaters. People who go to late parties and balls have their own carriages.”
Pitt was uncertain whether to share Charlotte’s idea with Tellman or not. On the face of it, it sounded absurd, and yet the more he thought of it, the more it seemed possible.
“What if he intended her to be washed ashore at Traitors Gate?”
Tellman stared at him. “Another warning to anyone
Then his face darkened. “But there’s no way, even if he put her in above the Tower, that she’d be sure to go ashore there. She could have gone all the way down to the next big curve, around Wapping, or further, to the Surrey Docks.” He shook his head. “He’d have to put her there himself, by boat, most likely. Only a madman would risk carrying her there down at Queen’s Steps, the way we went to find her.”
“Well he wouldn’t come from the north bank upriver,” Pitt thought aloud. “That’s Custom House Quay, and then the Billingsgate Fish Market. He’d have been seen for sure.”
“Other side of the river,” Tellman said instantly, standing upright, his thin body tense. “Horsley Down. Nobody ’round there! He could have put her in a small boat and ferried her across. Just left her more or less where we found her. Outgoing tide wouldn’t touch her.”
“Then I’m going to the south bank,” Pitt said decisively, standing up and moving away from the desk.
Tellman looked doubtful. “Sounds like a lot of trouble, not to say danger, just to make sure she fetched up at the Tower. Can’t see it, myself.”
“It’s worth trying,” Pitt answered, undeterred.
“The medical examiner said she was dragged,” Tellman pointed out, the last shreds of reluctance still clinging. “Clothes caught on something! He couldn’t have just put her there!”
“If he brought her from the other side, perhaps he dragged her?” Pitt replied. “Behind his boat, to make it look as if she’d been in the water some time.”
“Geez!” Tellman sucked his breath in between his teeth. “Then we’re dealing with a madman!” He caught sight of Pitt’s face. “All right-even madder than we thought.”
Pitt took a hansom. It was a long ride. He went south and east along the river, crossed at London Bridge and then turned east again immediately into Tooley Street.
“What ezac’ly are yer lookin’ fer?” the cabby asked dubiously. It was not that he objected to a fare that lasted several hours, and was willing to pay him to stand around, but he liked to know what was wanted of him, and this was a most peculiar request.
“I’m looking for a place where someone could have waited in a carriage until a quiet time just after the tide had turned, and then rowed a body across the river and left it on the slipway at Traitors Gate,” Pitt replied.
The cabby let out an incredulous blasphemy under his breath. “Sorry, guv,” he apologized the moment after. “But you ain’t ’alf got a nasty turn o’ mind.” He looked nervously around at the quiet bank and the empty stretch of river in the sun.
Pitt smiled sadly. “The murder of Mr. Chancellor’s wife,” he explained, showing the man his card.
“Oh! Oh, yeah! That was terrible, poor lady.” The man’s eyes widened. “Yer reckon as she was killed over ’ere, and taken across after, like?”
“No, I think she was brought over here in a carriage, someone waited until the tide turned, and then rowed across and left her on the slipway at the Tower.”
“Why? That don’t make no sense! Why not just stick ’er in the water and scarper! Daft ter be seen. ‘Oo cares where she fetches up?”
“I think he may have cared.”
“Why wait for the tide to turn? I’d just a’ put ’er in there as quick as possible and got goin’ afore anyone saw me.” He shivered. “You looking for a madman?”
“A man with an insane hatred, perhaps, but not mad in any general sense.”
“Then he’d a’ gone ter ‘Orsley Steps and rowed up a fraction on the incoming tide and left ’er there,” the cabby said with decision. “An’ rowed back ter Little Bridge, further up, ter keep goin’ with the tide, like, instead o’ rowin’ agin it.” He looked satisfied with his answer.
“If he’d left her on the incoming tide,” Pitt reasoned, “she might have been floated off again, and finished up somewhere else.”
“True,” the cabby agreed. “Still an’ all, I’d a’ taken the chance.”
“Perhaps. But I’ll see if anyone saw a carriage standing waiting that night. Horsley Down Steps and Little Bridge Stairs, you said?”
“Yes, guv. Yer want ter go there ter them places?”
“I do.”
“It would take an awful long time!”
“It probably will,” Pitt agreed with a tight smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to lunch. Do you know a good pub close by?”
The cabby’s face brightened. “‘Course I do! Bin ’ere before, or ’ereabouts. There’s the Black Bull up over London Bridge, bit over the other side. Or the Triple Plea down Queen Elizabeth Street, just over there.” He pointed with a gnarled hand. “Or over the railway line”-he swiveled farther around-“yer could go into Bermondsey and find anything yer like.”
“We’ll try the Triple Plea,” Pitt promised. “First we’ll go to the Horsley Down Steps.”
“Right, guv. Right y’are.” And he urged his horse forward with something almost close to anticipation.
They went down Tooley Street at a brisk trot until it became Queen Elizabeth Street, then the cab turned sharply left towards the river. There was a large building on the right side of the road which looked like a school. The street bore the dismal name of Potters’ Fields. Pitt wondered if it struck the cabby’s macabre sense of humor. They followed it a hundred yards or so until it ended at the road, little more than a path, which ran along the riverbank. There was only a sloping margin between them and the water, and it was deserted, even at this time of day. They passed two more roads leading up towards Queen Elizabeth Street before they came to the Horsley Down Steps, from where it would have been easy enough to get into a boat.
There was a small open area, less than a square, at the end of Freeman’s Lane. A couple of men stood around idly, watching whoever might pass, mainly the traffic along the water.
Pitt got out of the hansom and approached them. Several possible opening gambits occurred to him; the one he least favored was admitting who he was. It was one of those occasions when his sartorial inelegance was an advantage.
“Where would I get a boat around here?” he asked bluntly.
“What kind of a boat?” one of them asked, removing the clay pipe from between his teeth.
“Small one, only to cross the river,” Pitt replied.
“London Bridge, jus’ up there.” The man gestured with his pipe. “Why don’t yer walk?”
The other one laughed.
“Because I might meet someone I don’t wish to,” Pitt replied without a flicker of humor. “I might be taking something private with me,” he added for good measure.
“Might yer, then?” The first man was interested. “Well I daresay as I could rent yer a boat.”
“Done it before, have you?” Pitt asked casually.
“Wot’s it ter you?”
“Nothing.” Pitt affected indifference and turned as if to leave.
“Yer want a boat, I’ll get yer one!” the man called after him.
Pitt stopped. “Know the tides, do you?” he enquired.
“‘Course I know the tides! I live ’ere!”
“What tide’s best for going across to the Tower?”
“Geez! Yer planning to rob the Tower? After the crown jools, are yer?”
